I walked up the hill to watch the sunset last night. It's hard to believe this is February; I hear southern California has had twice as much rain as Seattle this month.
This post isn't about the weather, though. I sat cross-legged on a bench overlooking the molten river of sun poured out across the ocean. I closed my eyes and watched the bright patterns inside my eylids and felt as though I were floating up, borne on the stiff cold wind blowing off the water and the breathless laughter of the kids playing frisbee in the park behind me.
Each Sunday our pastor recites a different "call to worship," which as far as I know are his own writing. He read these lines some weeks ago:
In the midst of the chaos of our world; in the midst of competing forces vying for our loyalty; in the midst of a flood of need and fear from peoples near and far, we gather seeking holy space. And in this space and time we proclaim the claim of the Holy, that love is the center of all being, all meaning, and all truth.I floated in that awareness for a few minutes last night. I didn't feel it as any emotion--I felt no inclination to weep or dance--I just turned it over and over like a wave-smoothed pebble in my mind, resting in that conviction: "Love is the center of all being, all meaning, and all truth."
And that, as he always ends the message, is good news.